


You Can Only Lose What You Cling To

by MissMoochy



Series: MissMoochy's FebuWhump 2021 Oneshots [1]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Curse of Obedience, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, FebuWhump2021, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Mind Control, Mutilation, POV Matt Murdock, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:55:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29120811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: FebuWhump 2021 Day 1: [Mind Control]Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt: [Tongue Trauma]“Hmm,” Kilgrave says and he sounds convinced. “That’s a shame, isn’t it, Foggy? It’s difficult. Loving somebody who doesn’t love you. You want to keep them with you, don’t you? To cage them. If you’re the only face they see, they’ll have to grow to like the sight of it eventually?”People are playthings to the Purple Man. He has some fun with two new puppets.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Zebediah Killgrave/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Series: MissMoochy's FebuWhump 2021 Oneshots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136714
Comments: 7
Kudos: 39
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	You Can Only Lose What You Cling To

**Author's Note:**

> In the comics, his name is spelt Killgrave but in the Jessica Jones TV show, they changed it to Kilgrave. To make it less dramatic-sounding, I guess. I decided to keep the tv spelling, but the A03 tag uses the comic book spelling of his name.
> 
> Read the tags and don’t read this fic if you think it may trigger you. If you think reading this could harm you mentally, please don’t risk it. And please don’t send me flames, the world is hateful enough as it is.

He plods home, sweating in his kevlar. Patrol was rough and it’s about to get rougher. There’s somebody in his apartment, one lone heartbeat. As soon as he gets through the door, he switches the lights off and hefts his billy club in his hand.

“Hello, Mr Murdock.”

A voice he never wished to hear again. Low, faux-friendly, a British accent with a Cockney lilt. Matt can’t afford to lose focus so he schools his features into something neutral and inclines his head in greeting.

“Kilgrave.”

“Nice place you’ve got here. Although, very dark. Kind of goth. You know what you should get? A lava lamp. It would add a splash of colour to the place. Although I suppose the effect would be lost on you...”

“Save the small talk. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been watching you for a couple of days. I was very surprised to find out that Daredevil is a blind lawyer. Talk about a plot twist.”

This is the worst scenario. He’s found out Matt’s secret identity. Matt tries to reign in his despair. Inwardly, he’s reeling.

“I’m flattered that you find me so interesting.”

“I need her. Jessica,” Kilgrave says. “Where is she?”

Not a direct order. “I don’t know.”

“ **Tell me where she is.** ”

There it is. He can feel the compulsion pulling at him. He could try to fight it, but there’s no reason to do that, not yet. “I don’t know,” he says candidly. It’s the truth and Kilgrave knows it.

“She’s on the run? Avoiding me?”

“I expect so. I haven’t heard from her in months. You’ll never find her. She’s too good.”

“Oh, I’ll find her,” Kilgrave mutters. “Don’t you worry about that. I’ll find her. It’s a lovers tiff, what we have. She wants some space, and that’s fine. You know what women are like. I’ve been patient, very patient. But I’m running _out_ of patience. You understand me, don’t you, Matt? Can I call you Matt?”

“She doesn’t want you. You can’t inflict yourself on her, it isn’t _fair._ ”

 _“Life_ isn’t fair. You don’t get it, do you?” Kilgrave is pacing around now, throwing his hands up in the air to wildly gesticulate, possessed by restless energy. “Sometimes, you have to take charge. You have to make decisions for a weaker person. They’ll be better for it. That’s what I’m trying to do for Jessica.”

Matt cocks his head to the side, listening to Kilgrave's steady heartbeat. He truly believes what he’s saying. “You think Jessica is weak?”

“I think...Jessica is rash. Impulsive. I think she needs a sense of order. I can give that to her.”

Matt balls his free hand into a fist. He’s hated plenty of people before, but Kilgrave is somebody he could honestly kill, if it came to that.

“You don’t understand love, Kilgrave. Love is giving somebody the freedom to be with you. Giving them the option to leave you if they want to. Trusting that they won’t.” It’s a wasted effort because Kilgrave shakes his head, he’s dismissed what Matt told him and Matt isn’t surprised.

But Matt is so focused on regulating his breathing, waiting on tenterhooks for the inevitable imperatives that will follow, he doesn’t think to listen to the sounds of the city. He doesn’t even listen to the sounds in his own apartment. But now, he can hear it. The familiar heartbeat, the footsteps on the floor. The turn of a key in the door.

_Foggy._

“ **Don’t move, Matt.** ” Kilgrave hisses.

“Foggy, run!” Matt shouts but it’s too late. The door opens and then there he is. 

Foggy brings with him the aroma of Hell’s Kitchen, the rainwater that slopes off awnings, the smoky tang of the spicy curry he had for lunch and a dozen other scents. It’s reassuring, it’s home and it should never occupy the same space as Kilgrave. Having something as good and honest as Foggy in the same room as Kilgrave is repulsive.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” Foggy says, sounding adorably bewildered. Matt wonders what he must see: Matt still encased in leather and kevlar and the horned mask and Kilgrave, a slight, suited man, standing perfectly at ease in the Devil’s domain.

As Foggy’s head turns towards Kilgrave, his heartbeat picks up. Matt assumes Kilgrave must be attractive. It would rankle but his irritation is suffocated by clawing fear.

“Hello, Foggy,” Kilgrave says and his voice carries like a thin breeze. “What an interesting name. Are you a friend of Matt’s?”

“Uh…” Foggy says, unsure and awkward.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you. I’ll lay out all my cards on the table. My name is Zebediah Kilgrave and I’m a friend of Jessica Jones.”

“Uh-huh. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anybody to be here, I thought that, I mean, I can go if you want me to, I just wa—”

“ **Be quiet.** ” Kilgrave says softly and Foggy’s jaws snap shut. His heartbeat is clattering like a tin can rolling down a street, so Matt thinks he probably is aware that he is being controlled. Some people don’t work it out. They just think the strange man with the silky voice has good ideas.

“ **Come here, would you?** ” Kilgrave says and Foggy obediently walks over. Matt can hear his friend’s teeth grinding against one another.

“So, you’re friends with the great Daredevil?”

“You know, I really hate that name,” Foggy says weakly.

Kilgrave barks out a laugh. “Oh, I like you, Foggy! You’re no sycophant. Why’d you hang out with Matt? **Tell me.** ”

It’s a hanging moment, the tension gathering around the three men like a million, invisible threads tying their bodies together. Foggy hesitates as long as he can. Matt can hear his teeth grind, his tongue stick wetly against the roof of his mouth. He’s fighting it. He doesn’t want to talk. But he can’t hold out for long, and his tongue unsticks and his jaws unlock and he says (in a rush): “I love him.”

He couldn’t have stopped it. It’s not his fault. He couldn’t he have rebelled against Kilgrave’s order but Matt wishes he’d succeeded. It’s ironic. Matt’s always secretly wished to hear Foggy say such a thing, but now, he wishes he’d never heard it. Because it’s all ammunition for Kilgrave. Foggy shouldn’t love him. He’s not deserving of his love. He’d always sworn to himself that he’d protect him, but now it’s too late.

“Oh...this is interesting. You love him. **Tell me why you love him.** ”

“He’s brave and smart and he wants to make the world better,” Foggy says dully. Matt wants to crawl under the earth and never emerge.

“Does he love you? Daredevil? Do you?”

Matt grits his teeth. Sends a silent apology to Foggy for the lie. Their bond seems so strong sometimes, it’s almost like they share a soul. He wishes he could plant the thought in Foggy’s brain: _I’m sorry, Foggy. I’m sorry._ “No. I don’t.”

“Hmm,” Kilgrave says and he sounds convinced. “That’s a shame, isn’t it, Foggy? It’s difficult. Loving somebody who doesn’t love you. You want to keep them with you, don’t you? To cage them. If you’re the only face they see, they’ll have to grow to like the sight of it eventually?”

Foggy doesn’t reply.

Kilgrave sighs. “You don’t agree with me. That’s a shame. You’re scared of me, I can tell. You think I’m crazy. But there’s something else, isn’t there? Beneath that fear. You’re intrigued by me.”

“I’m not.”

“Errrr, you say that, but your pupils are dilated, mate. You’ve got a thing for superpowered individuals? You like a man with power?” 

“Leave him alone,” Matt snarls. He tries to step forward but his boots feel glued to the floor.

“ **Don’t move!** It bothers you, doesn’t it? When I speak to him? I wonder... Would it bother you if I touched him?”

Matt says nothing. If he gives him nothing, Kilgrave will have nothing to work with. He can handle this, he can trick him. He can lie, he can say—

“ **Foggy, gimme a kiss,** ” Kilgrave says suddenly and Matt’s brain short-circuits.

Foggy’s heart is juddering but he shuffles forward, his feet dragging and then there is silence.

He strains his ears and he can hear it, just the slightest sound, of skin on skin. There are no wet slick sounds of two tongues. A chaste kiss of closed lips. Foggy’s heartbeat is loud and panicky, overpowering the sound of Kilgrave’s slow pulse. His breath rustles on Kilgrave’s thin, dry lips.

“How was that, Foggy? Not too bad?”

“You’re like him, aren’t you? You have powers?”

“I do. I can make you do anything. All I have to do—” and his fingers are sinking into Foggy’s hair, Matt can hear the drag of flesh through silk. “—is whisper in your ear.”

There’s something, a sharp sudden movement, that tears through the air and Kilgrave grunts in pain, his body falling back. He’s closer to the ground now, he’s fallen to his knees. Shoved by Foggy? Kicked?

His heartbeat is louder, faster, not as frantic as Foggy’s but more elevated than before. But Matt can smell the adrenaline in his veins. He likes being challenged. It’s no fun otherwise.

“That’s good, you’re good. But I’m not interested in the monkey. I want the organ grinder. And it kills him, doesn’t it, when I touch you? When I say your name. Foggy. **Help me up.** ”

Foggy bends at the waist and pulls Kilgrave up. Their two bodies blare out heat. Kilgrave, tall and lean, like some fleshless night-creature with elongated limbs, and Foggy, shorter, stockier, soft and warm. Their bodies are as different as night and day. And they’re touching. Foggy’s hand on Kilgrave’s arm. And it’s _wrong._

“Now, Foggy. I’m trying to be reasonable, here. I don’t want to hurt anybody if I don’t have to. And my issue is with your master, not with you—”

“He’s not my—”

“—so I’m going to need you to behave. Because if you don’t, I can make you pull out every one of your fingernails with your teeth. Understand?”

“…I understand.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll behave.” Foggy’s voice is so quiet it must be barely audible to the Purple Man.

 **“** Good,” Kilgrave’s hand has returned to Foggy’s hair and he is caressing it gently, but Matt can hear Foggy shudder. “He’s very obedient. I wish my Jessica could be more like you. But she will. In time.”

“Kilgrave, your problem is with me, leave Foggy out of this! He means nothing to me, he’s just a—a stupid sidekick who follows me around! I don’t care about him.”

Kilgrave sniffs loudly. “See, I don’t believe that for a second. I think...you do care for him. Am I wrong? You don’t care a jot? Not even a teensy little bit for this poor bastard?”

 **“** No,” Matt says evenly. It’s the biggest bluff of his life. “I don’t.”

“Okay, then. Pity. **Foggy, jump out of the window—** ”

Foggy barely takes a step before Matt bawls out a: “ _NO!_ ”

“ **Foggy, stop**. Good boy. That, uh, that sheds doubt on your previous statement, Mr Murdock. Seems that you do care about old Foggy, after all.”

“I care about human life. Not him in particular.”

“We’ll see,” Kilgrave says and he might be smiling. “We’ll see. But if you don’t tell me how I can find Jessica, I will do things to Foggy that will _haunt_ him. I’m telling you, I won’t leave one fat fold unviolated.”

“Matt, don’t tell him anythi— mpfh!” Foggy is cut off by a hand slapping down over his mouth.

“Jesus, would it kill you shut up, once in a while? **  
**

* * *

It wasn’t an idle threat. It never is with Kilgrave.

“ **Strip. Slowly.** ”

He hears it all.

 _The slithering of Foggy’s tie being released from its knot. It slips from his hand like a snake. The soft whoosh of buttons leaving their holes. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. More whooshing as the shirt is parted and pushed down. He smells stronger now, the faint scent of deodorant on his underarms now overpowered by sweat. His hands fall to his waist. The click of a buckle._ Matt can smell the leather. _The drag of a zipper._

Matt swallows around a sudden lump in his throat.

Fabric pools around Foggy’s ankles and he steps out of his slacks. Matt can hear Kilgrave drop to his haunches, the bones in his knees clicking and then his hands are on Foggy’s shoes, untying the laces.

“Have you ever fucked a man?” Kilgrave says, as casually as if he was discussing the weather.

“No,” Foggy says. It must kill him to have Kilgrave kneeling before him but be unable to kick him or take the opportunity to run away. 

“Really? Nobody? Hmm, that’s surprising. Looks like I’ll be the one to pop your cherry. You’ve thought about this before, though? You’ve thought about Daredevil doing this to you? Sorry. You’ve thought about _Matt_ doing this to you.”

“Yes,” Foggy whispers. 

“What’s your ideal fantasy? You and Matt? **Tell me.** ”

“Matt fucks me while he’s in his Daredevil costume—” Foggy starts. His voice reminds Matt of English Literature classes at school, when a child would be tasked with reading out an excerpt from the book they were all studying. That hesitant, stilted voice, droning on. “He crawls in through my window and takes off his mask and he kisses me. He tells me he missed me and he holds my face in his hand. He fucks me on my back and I can look into his eyes—”

“Okay, **stop,** that’s fine. What about it, Matt? Do you wanna recreate some fantasies tonight?”

“Fuck you,” Matt bites out. Although his voice is acidic, he feels drained inside. _I’m sorry, Foggy, I’m so sorry. I’ll get us out of this._

“I’d rather fuck Foggy, actually. Well, to be honest, I’d rather fuck Jessica, but she’s not here, is she? You and your bloody Scooby gang hid her from me. If that Cage bloke has her, I’m gonna... Never mind. Matt, you must be getting tired. **Pull up that chair and sit by the bed, okay?** ”

He does it. Kilgrave directs Foggy to sit on the edge of the bed. He makes Foggy undress him. “Careful,” Kilgrave hisses, as his zipper catches on something, possibly the hairs on his pubic bone.

“You know, Foggy, my old mucker… I’m feeling generous. You’re just a stupid non-mutant who made the mistake of befriending the wrong guy. If you want, I can make it good for you. I guarantee you, you’ll never know pleasure like it.”

Foggy’s fingers slip on the last two buttons of Kilgrave’s shirt. “No thank you,” he says. His voice is steady. Matt hates himself for the sweet rush of relief that he feels. He doesn’t want Foggy to suffer. But he honestly thinks he would die if he heard Foggy enjoying Kilgrave’s attention. Begging him sweetly. Kissing him and doting on him. It shouldn’t be Kilgrave, it should be Matt.

Kilgrave is silent as Foggy finishes undressing him. He gracefully steps out of his discarded pile of clothing, and kicks off his shoes. Lifts one socked foot onto Foggy’s lap, one after the other and makes him peel his socks off.

And then he’s naked. They both are. Foggy smells of sour, fear-induced sweat, pooling in his lower back, and beading at his temples. Kilgrave smells like cigarette smoke and arousal. He makes Foggy touch him. His chest, his hips, his cock. Foggy does so without comment. His heart is still skittering like a rat in a drainpipe.

“Do to me what you like being done to you,” Kilgrave tells him huskily and it’s not an order but Foggy obeys anyway. Changes his grip, splays his fingers differently. Whatever he’s doing, it’s working because heavy arousal seeps out of Kilgrave’s pores to hang in the air, like a miasma. Any air Matt breathes in tastes of hot arousal and the salt of Kilgrave’s pre-come. He holds his breath but then his throat burns.

“You okay, Matty?” Foggy asks him because that’s who he is. He’s sweating and his heart is pounding and his skin is clammy and tight with fear but he still checks up on Matt. Wants to make sure his best friend is okay.

Matt blinks back hot, wretched tears. “I’m fine, Foggy. You’re doing well.” His voice barely trembles.

“No talking,” Kilgrave hisses, grinding his cock against Foggy’s palm. The sound isn’t as rough now, the drag of skin on skin. Wet, lubricated by Kilgrave’s pre-come. “Actually, you know what? I think I want it in your mouth…”

“I…I…” Foggy stammers. “I don’t—”

“Come on, Foggy,” he says bracingly as if they’re old friends. “It’s not gonna suck itself. You can do it willingly or I can make you. Up to you, mate.”

There’s no verbal response from Foggy, but Matt smells Foggy’s breath as he opens his mouth. His tongue darting out to moisten his lips. And then, there’s not much except Kilgrave’s low grunting and Foggy’s wet sucking. Matt bunches his hands in his lap, digs the tips of his gloved fingers into the fleshy palms, digs so hard that his hands burn. He doesn’t block out that ache, he needs the pain.

Wet, deep sucks and swallowing, the rustle of Foggy’s hair as Kilgrave grips it. Faint heat flares of pain in Foggy’s sensitive scalp as the sheets of hair are yanked like curtain ties.

“Stop it,” Matt begs. “He’s doing what you want.”

“Mm, fair enough,” Kilgrave says agreeably, and Fogy’s lips make a smacking _pop!_ as he’s pushed off Kilgrave’s cock. “Probably should skip straight to dessert. Foggy, **lie on the bed.** ”

Foggy springs up like a jack-in-the-box and practically flies to the bed, landing on it heavily and making the springs groan. How many times has he lain on this bed with Matt? Laughing, stinking of liquor, as they tell each other stupid jokes and Matt is lulled to sleep by Foggy’s heartbeat? It used to excite him. The rare moments in life when Foggy would be in his bedroom. Matt’s bedroom was his sanctuary, and it smelt like him. No matter how many times he washed his silken sheets, they always smelt of his own natural scent. And when Foggy laid on those sheets? He smelt of Matt, too.

“Matt, **take off your gloves.** You know what? **Take off that stupid Batman cowl, too.** Makes you look like an idiot.”

Matt’s gloves come off easily, falling in his lap. He hesitates with the cowl for as long as he can, but his hands betray him. They burn with the need to wrestle with that fabric and sling it to the floor. He grits his teeth so hard, he can feel the scrape of enamel, but his arms slide up of their own volition and the cowl soon rests on the ground.

“Good boy. Isn’t it much better when you do what you’re told? I saw you trying to fight my order. Don’t think I didn’t notice. Tell you what. Every time you try to resist, I’ll punish you.”

Kilgrave scoops something up and then, there’s a slashing movement in the air and Foggy screams. A terrible, shrill cry and heat blares in his face.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?”

“Belted him in the face.” A belt. Foggy’s belt. Rage claws at Matt’s gut, lava-hot and scorching his bones. He’s never hated anybody like he hates Kilgrave, it’s something insane and fulled by vicious rage, he wants to kill Kilgrave with his hands so he can choke out the last few breaths of life. Set Kilgrave’s body on fire and dance around the pyre, smear Kilgrave’s ashes on his face like he’s a mad cultist. He could kill him a million times in a million different ways and it still wouldn’t be enough. His chest aches with the need to hurt him.

“You said you were going to punish _me!”_

“And the best way of doing that is by hurting your friend,” Kilgrave says very slowly as if he’s trying to explain a complex equation to a child. “Are you going to behave or should I punish you again?”

“I’ll do it. Anything you want, just don’t hurt him,”

“Good,”

And Kilgrave is stepping closer, and he presses something into Matt’s palms. A cold, plastic tub. “Your choice. If you want to make it easier on him. If not, I’m going in dry.”

* * *

“I’m sorry, Foggy, I’m so sorry…” Matt says but what he wants to say is _not like this. Not like this._ Everything he’d ever wanted… Dreamed about. So many nights in college, listening to Foggy shift in his bed or sleepily snuffle.

“It’s okay, Matty. I trust you,” Foggy tells him and his steady heartbeat sings _truth, truth, truth._ He’s lying on his stomach with Matt kneeling behind him, and all that warm skin is right there, close enough to touch. And Matt knows what’s going to happen and what he has to do.

“I have to do this… It’ll hurt worse if I don’t…”

“Then just do it, Matt. It’s okay. You’re not…” Foggy says and his voice cracks. “You’re not raping me. I know it’s not your fault. You’re trying to help. So, please…”

When he lets his ungloved fingers touch Foggy’s skin, it’s warmer than he’d thought. And soft. So, impossibly soft and full of life. He’s become addicted to the sound of Foggy’s steady, healthy heartbeat. Listens for it in the street. In the night, when he’s out patrolling. Or when he’s taking a stroll sometimes, he’ll catch a snatch of Foggy’s scent in the breeze. It’s like finding puzzle pieces that form one big picture of Foggy Nelson. But his skin. It’s fucking glorious. So hot beneath the pads of Matt’s fingers, like liquid sunlight. He wants to bury his face in it, feel that heat all over. He hates himself for feeling this way, especially now.

The lubricant is cold and thick on his fingers. Globules nestle in the webbing between his thumb and his index finger. It smells faintly greasy but its not an overpowering odour. He braces himself and reaches down, between Foggy’s trembling thighs to where the most heat blooms. He’s done this before with women. This should be easy. But it’s not. Because this is _Foggy._

When he gently slips his finger into him, Foggy releases a quiet gasp. Matt tries to focus on his friend’s heartbeat, but all he can think about is how his finger is engulfed in heat. He can feel Foggy more than he ever did before. Feel internal muscles squeezing his finger. It’s like exploring a new city. He thinks he could climb inside and be so deep inside his friend that he could never leave. He always wondered what this would feel like.

Foggy squirms a bit, struggles onto his hands and knees. “Buddy, I think you’re gonna need to hurry up. Our guest is looking impatient.”

Matt knows Kilgrave is keenly watching.

Matt can’t try to fight him, not with Foggy so close. Too dangerous. Perhaps, he can find a moment when Kilgrave is distracted and then hit him over the head. It’s as good a plan as any. But it’s hard to think because of Foggy, fucking Foggy, Foggy on his knees, and so hot and tight and if this was real, Foggy would want Matt to—

He adds another slippery finger, banishing his dangerous thoughts to an abandoned corner of his mind.

Apart from stifled panting and his jittering heart, Foggy takes it well. He lets Matt open him up with two fingers and then three. By the third, his heart has settled down a bit but he’s still panting. Open-mouthed, damp breath spilling out on Matt’s pillow.

Matt’s finger grazes something, some bump of muscle and Foggy moans. His heart kicks up a notch.

“Foggy?”

“Matt?” Foggy’s voice is rough. Matt shivers.

“Okay, Matt, I think you’ve done enough. **Sit on the chair and don’t get up.** ”

Matt’s wooden legs take him to the chair and he falls into it. Kilgrave sweeps past him without comment.

He sits there, a useless puppet with its strings cut. All he can do is listen. This could be the first time in his life that he’s grateful for his blindness. At least he won’t have to watch Foggy suffering. And that selfishness is _so very_ Matt Murdock, he thinks to himself. He wishes he could swap places with him.

Matt is hard muscle and sinew, whereas Foggy is heart, softness and flesh. Kilgrave, a hideous, lanky figure like a possessed skeleton, hovers behind Foggy, making appraising noises that are surely for Matt’s benefit.

Matt’s fingers feel glued together, by the lubricant. They feel cold without Foggy’s warmth wrapped around them. He shoves his hands in his lap and clasps them together.

“Okay, Foggy, **spread your legs a bit for me,** that’s lovely, yeah. Now let me, no need to be shy. Let me just…”

He wants to kill him. Reach his fingers, still thick with lube, and yank out Kilgrave’s damned tongue, pull on it like he’s revving up a chainsaw, yank it clean out of his hideous mouth.

He can hear everything. Smell everything. Feel everything. This is hell.

The wet squelch of lube, dripping down Foggy’s thighs. Kilgrave’s cock, flushed and hard, pushes in, hard and certain, and Foggy winces. Foggy bites down a grunt of pain, and nobody would know, but Matt. He knows, he can hear Foggy’s teeth digging into his lip.

The good news is — it doesn’t last long.

Kilgrave’s making a point, he’s not getting much pleasure out of this. And he considers Foggy so unnecessary that he’s hardly worth Kilgrave’s time. This is what saves Foggy, keeps him safe. Matt could never admit it to himself but there are far worse things Kilgrave could do to a person than rape them.

But it hurts. God, how it hurts. Every cry, every slap of flesh on flesh, every drop of sweat that courses down their bodies. The salt of Kilgrave’s come and the salt of Foggy’s tears. Kilgrave’s grunts and Foggy’s laboured panting.

And Matt is so useless, unable to save his friend. Sitting there, his hands itching to wrap themselves around Kilgrave’s throat and squeeze.

It hurts and he knows it must hurt Foggy worse. But then Kilgrave stops.

“Not getting to you,” Kilgrave’s mumbles, digging his slender fingers into Foggy’s hips. “Not getting through to you, am I?”

“He’s not like us,” Matt says desperately. “He can’t take it. Use _me._ I have powers. You can do anything to me, and I’ll let you. Kilgrave, I’ll — I’ll let you,”

Kilgrave pulls out roughly. “You would, wouldn’t you? You’d take one for the team for this ugly, fat bastard. Why?”

Matt remains silent, it’s the only power he has.

“Change of plan. **Get on the bed.** ”

* * *

No. This is a new torture. He makes him — Matt doesn’t want — he doesn’t — but Kilgrave _makes_ him—

“I’m so sorry, Foggy,” and he hadn’t cried once when he’d been sat in that chair, listening. But now, tears slip from Matt’s eyes and splatter on Foggy’s back.

“It’s okay, Matt,” Foggy whispers, and Matt knows he means it. “It’s better when it’s you.”

Matt’s hard, aching hard. Can’t help it. His body stirs into life by proximity to Foggy. But he’s gentle. He’s not Kilgrave, he’s not a monster. As he positions himself behind Foggy and gently places a hand on each curved hip, he’s so careful. He fucks him as slow as he dares, too slow and Kilgrave will lose patience but too fast, and he’ll hurt Foggy. Foggy’s body feels exquisite, he would have given anything for this. But it’s poisoned by Kilgrave’s presence. Matt doesn’t last long. Foggy’s hot muscles squeeze his cock, and he topples off his perch into a rolling wave of pleasure. He bites his lip to muffle his moan, and tastes blood.

When he slides off him, sweaty and wet, with his pants bunched around his legs, he sinks to the floor. Foggy still lies there on the bed, but his breathing is more even than it was before.

Kilgrave leaps up from the chair, gangling limbs like a cartoon villain. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Foggy, don’t look at me like that. Here, let me help you u—”

He doesn’t see the billy club fly out of nowhere.

The wet crunch of club on skull is beautiful. Matt hefts it in his hands and swings it again. He smiles grimly as Kilgrave collapses on the floor.

* * *

Matt and Foggy gather at Kilgrave’s body. Foggy has thrown one of Matt’s old dressing gowns around himself, Matt thinks.

“He’s still alive,” Matt tells him. “His heartbeat is steady. He’s unconscious.”

“Matt, Matty, he’s gonna keep doing this, he’s, he’s gonna keep hurting people—”

“He won’t! We’ll call the police!”

“And he’ll order them to shoot themselves!” Foggy shrieks. He sounds more terrified than he had all night. “We can’t let —Matt, I don’t want this. I don’t want anybody else to get hurt, I’m scared—”

“I know, Foggy, I know, I’m scared too,” Matt babbles. He wants desperately to hug him, to feel the reassuring hum of life on Foggy’s skin, but he holds still. He knows the last thing Foggy wants is to be touched right now.

Foggy’s breathing is ragged and Matt strains his ears, listening for some new threat but there’s nothing. It must be something internal, some secret struggle Foggy was having with himself.

“Tie him up,” Foggy says, and his voice is cooler, it has a hard edge to it that Matt had never heard before.

* * *

He hears the slap of Foggy’s bare feet as he leaves the room and then he’s flinging open drawers, cursing under his breath and searching for something. Metal clinking. And then a humourless sound of satisfaction.

When Foggy returns (from the kitchen, he thinks), he’s holding something. Matt smells metal and faint traces of lemon dish soap. “Foggy?”

“Get his mouth open,” Foggy orders. “Now!”

Matt acts unthinkingly, he grabs one side of Kilgrave’s jaw with each hand and pries them open.

Foggy leans over the two of them and the ends of his hair tickle Matt’s cheek. He’s accustomed to the silken rustle of that hair, but at the moment, the ends are sticking together in clumps, stiffened by sweat and the dried blood that clings to it. He fights back a wave of nausea.

“Okay,” Foggy says breathlessly. “This looks pretty sharp,”

The metal (knife, his mind supplies) bumps against Matt’s fingers as Foggy inserts the tip of the blade into Kilgrave’s gaping mouth.

“You shouldn’t... I can do this…” Matt urges him, but even as he says it, he knows it's a lost cause. And perhaps Foggy needs this more than Matt does.

It takes a long time. The kitchen knife is sharp, but Foggy isn’t strong, and Matt can sense the fatigue that hangs off his shoulders like an ill-fitting anorak.

But he saws away, and Kilgrave feebly moans and at last, Foggy triumphantly lifts the small fleshy muscle.

“He’s unconscious,” Matt tells him, hearing the thready heartbeat. “Did you get it all?”

“Most of it. He won’t be doing any talking now. You sure he’s alive?”

“Yeah.”

“What should we do with this?”

“Garbage disposal?” Matt offers.

Foggy tosses the severed tongue down the garbage disposal unit in the kitchen and switches it on. It whirs happily as it shreds the bloodied lump.

Afterwards, Matt makes a call to Cage to help him dump Kilgrave’s body somewhere in town. Kilgrave will live, but he won’t consider it much of a life. Now, all Matt can do is make sure he and Foggy survive this.


End file.
